


Supernatural & SPN RPS Timestamps

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of timestamps written for various older fics of mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cookbook for Boys and Girls

Timestamp to [Cookbook for Boys and Girls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/53629)

Sam was sitting at the table trying to focus on one of the books from the Men of Letters library while Dean was off in the kitchen making…something. Sam didn’t begrudge Dean his current obsession with cooking now that they had a real kitchen of their own, but he was tired of Dean expecting him to eat the strange things he put together. At lunch two days ago Sam had found himself face to face with a pineapple ring sitting on a piece of lettuce with half of a banana standing upright in the middle of the ring and a maraschino cherry stuck to the top with a toothpick. His first thought had been _clown penis_ but Dean had grinned and announced that it was a candle salad.  
  
“Sammy,” he’s said, “it’s better than a real candle because you can eat it.”  
  
Sam looked at it and shook his head. “Maybe you can eat it, but I can’t. Thanks but…no.”  
  
“Your loss,” Dean had grumbled before taking the monstrosity back to the kitchen.  
  
The next day at lunchtime, Sam had looked up from his book to see a new and somehow even more awful concoction on a plate in front of him. There was a canned pear half sitting on a piece of lettuce with a white tail made from cottage cheese. Almonds, raisins and what Sam suspected was a red-hot were arranged to make the ears, eyes and nose, and Sam pushed the plate away with one finger. “What the hell, Dean?”  
  
“That bunny has just come out of the garden, Sammy.”  
  
“Seriously, what the hell?”  
  
Dean swiped his finger across the wad of cottage cheese and stuck it in his mouth then smiled and walked away with the plate in hand.  
  
Now, Sam heard Dean approaching him from behind, and he didn’t even want to see what Dean had put together today. Now that he was paying attention, Sam realized that something smelled really good, and he turned around to see what Dean had a plate of brownies in one hand and two glasses of milk in the other.  
  
“How did we get from weird salad creations to brownies for lunch?”  
  
“Well, they’re only a few pages apart, you know.”  
  
“Pages?” Somehow, the brownies were overriding Sam’s general aversion to the idea of food, so he plucked one from the plate and took a bite. “Wait, these are— Dean, are these the brownies from Mom’s book?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Yeah, guess they are. The book was in one of the boxes we got from the storage unit in Topeka.”  
  
“And the crazy shit you were trying to feed me the last two days?”  
  
“From the book, yeah. I don’t know, that book, this place, they kind of go together. Neither of them ever left the fifties.”  
  
Sam took a drink of milk and ate more of the brownie, which was moist and as perfect. He remembered being so excited and proud to bake something himself, and he also remembered the emotional turmoil that had followed. Dad’s anger and then the rare moment of soft sentiment from him, Dean’s grief, he and Dean horsing around—it all felt like another lifetime and yet the memories were so clear. “You’re not going to try to make me eat cabbage wedgies are you?”  
  
“Nah, but I was thinking about meatloaf.”  
  
“The kind with mashed potatoes on top?”  
  
“If that’s what you want.”  
  
Strangely enough, Sam thought that he did.

 

 


	2. Cut

Timestamp to [Cut](http://archiveofourown.org/works/53635)

 

Dean sat on the hotel room bed with his eyes closed, scrunching up his forehead some just to feel the bandage pull against his skin, the edges of the wound pull at each other. It was nothing, just some cuts he could have bandaged himself--would've, if Sam hadn't been fussing and hovering like there was some kind of emergency.

Speaking of Sam, he'd been in the bathroom for at least a few minutes, and Dean really needed to take a piss. Like, soon. "Hey!" he called out, "stop messing with your tampons, Sammy! I need to take a leak!"

"Hold on," Sam said, his voice muffled by the door.

"I've been holding on. Come on." Dean walked over toward the bathroom and was about to try the door, just to mess with Sam if nothing else, when the door opened and Sam walked out with a lot more face than Dean was used to seeing. "Funny I didn't hear the weedwacker running."

"I--" Sam frowned, and Dean held up one hand.

"Just pause it right here." Dean brushed past Sam and went in the bathroom to relieve himself, and as he turned to leave he noticed stray strands of brown hair in the sink, clinging to the cracked porcelain. Then Dean opened the bathroom door to see Sam sitting at the end of one of the beds with his hands in his lap and a hangdog expression on his face.

"I'm really sorry," Sam said, and Dean just raised his eyebrows then winced at the pull on his wound.

"Don't be sorry to me. It's your own freaky hair you're messing with."

"No. No, I'm sorry you got hurt. If my 'freaky hair' hadn't been in the way I would've stopped it before you got hurt."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard out of your mouth, and I gotta say the bar is pretty high."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, and Dean liked that--pissy Sam was better than guilty, weirded-out Sam.

"You know, you overlooked some obvious solutions here. We could get you barrettes, like the little plastic ones old ladies put on their dogs. Or a headband, like the preppy girls in the 80s movies. Or maybe one of those with the deedlyboppers on them, that would probably hypnotize something long enough for me to gank it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up." But he smiled, and that was good enough for Dean.


	3. The Ones that Can Swallow You Whole

Timestamp to [The Ones that Can Swallow You Whole](http://archiveofourown.org/works/90786)

 

Jensen woke to the sound of ragged coughs, and it took his brain a couple of long seconds to make the connection: coughing, Jared, sick. In the dim moonlight that lit their bedroom, he could see Jared sitting up, bending slightly forward with the force of the coughs, one hand splayed open over his chest and his eyes squeezed shut. Jensen sat up and turned on the lamp, and put his hand on Jared's back, rubbing lightly.

"Hey. Hey, relax." Jensen didn't like the wheezing sound of the few breaths Jared was managing to get between coughs so he reached around Jared to get the inhaler from the bedside table then shook it up and pressed it into Jared's hands. Jensen felt his own hands shaking as he watched Jared take a hit from the inhaler and then a second one before the coughing and wheezing calmed into rough but even breaths. Jensen kept rubbing Jared's back as he put the inhaler down and slumped forward over his bent knees.

"Fuck, man," Jared said, his voice unsteady.

Jensen didn't know what to say--the whole thing sucked. Jared's asthma was usually something he managed just fine but a bad cold had turned into bronchitis, and Jensen couldn't do a damn thing about it. I need a drink. Jensen shook his head and pushed the thought away. "I'm going to get you some water." Jensen moved to the edge of the bed and reached out for his crutches.

"No." Jared winced as a brief coughing spell shook through him. "Can you stay? I just--bad dream."

"Okay." Jensen moved back to the middle of the bed and put his hand on Jared's back again. "Okay. Do you remember your dream?"

"Oh, yeah." Jared coughed out a humorless laugh. "I was drowning, pulled down in the water. Choking on the water. And then I woke up and I couldn't--"

"You can breathe."

"Yeah." Jared nodded, still looking miserable. "I hate this."

"Me too." Jensen nudged Jared until he was reclining back on his pile of pillows then pushes Jared's sweaty bangs out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. "But you? You I love."

Jensen turned off the light and stretched out next to Jared with his head on the edge of Jared's pillows and his good leg curled around Jared's. He closed his eyes and listened to the tidal rhythm of Jared's breaths. This--this was all he needed.


	4. Golden Dog

Timestamp to [Golden Dog](http://archiveofourown.org/works/868201)

Jensen had been on tour with Golden Dog for three weeks, though Jensen couldn't believe it had been that long. Three weeks of moving from bus to hotel to bus to stage, playing rock and roll to summer festival crowds in a dozen different cities. Sometimes he felt like he was providing part of the soundtrack to a drama that had more to do with beer trucks than music, and other times he felt like a fucking rockstar, even if he was just a random dude playing guitar in JD Morgan's shadow. Jeff's shadow wasn't a bad place to be, especially when it came with nights spent with Jeff's taste in his mouth, Jeff's warm body in the bed next to him.

On stage, JD was the star of the show, and Jensen didn't mind that at all. Unlike Jeff, Jensen could change his shirt and wander out into the crowd in search of food or a beer without being mobbed by fans who had been too young to throw themselves at JD Morgan during Golden Dog's heyday. Jensen figured he wasn't much different from any of them, after all. He was startled when a girl walked up to him while he was in the line for a food truck.

"Hey, you're the guitar guy! The new one."

Jensen stuck his hands in his back pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess that's me."

"Cool! So, um, what's your name?"

Jensen really hoped that the girl wasn't trying to flirt with him, but he was awful at being able to tell. "Uh, Jensen."

"Jensen. Cool! Thanks!" She smiled then jogged off to join a couple of her friends, and Jensen had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

At the next show, Jensen thought he heard his name in between songs and looked down to see a few girls--women, whatever--looking at him. He smiled and went back to his playing because seriously, he must have been hearing things. Nobody knew who he was, other than the random guy hired to play guitar for Golden Dog's summer tour. It happened again at two of the next three shows, women calling his name but not really coming up to him, and Jensen didn't know what was going on until his sister called him.

"Oh my god, Jay. Do you know how creepy weird it was to see a picture of you on my computer. I mean, a pic that didn't come from mom?"

"Uh, what?"

"And are you seriously doing it with the Golden Dog guy?"

"Uh, what? The fuck?"

"People on tumblr have pictures where they say you're eye-fucking. Gross."

"Hey, now--"

"Duh, Jay, I don't mean the gay thing. I just mean that you're my brother, not a Jonas brother."

Jensen sat down at put his head in his hands. "Swear to God, I don't understand half of what you're talking about but yeah. Jeff and I seeing each other, I guess you could say."

"Okay, so I'm going to have to block some tags in order to avoid scarring myself for life, but that's awesome."

Jensen was still shaking his head when she hung up, and he wasn't sure if he should say anything to Jeff but the topic came up anyway when they were eating pizza in bed that night.

"So, my manager told me that you're getting some fans of your own."

"Oh my god, I swear I didn't--"

"I know. It's the internet thing. I don't really get it but I guess it's free publicity. It sounds like somebody must have seen something with us but I sure as hell don't care."

Jensen nodded, relieved. "Well, I guess it's cool then."

"Oh, yeah." Jeff pushed the pizza aside and slipped his hand under the covers, and Jensen forgot all about tumbling girls on the internet, whatever that meant.

Apparently Jeff's manager put out some kind of press release that just encouraged the whole crazy thing, and Jensen started hearing his name from the audience more often. He caught a boy who looked like he was about sixteen lurking around the bus, and the kid stammered, wide-eyed, when Jensen told him to buzz off before security saw him.

They were playing another show--Jensen didn't know what city they were in, but it was a Friday night, pleasantly cool for summer with clear, starry skies. They were taking a quick break to drink some water, and Jeff gave Jensen an odd look, somehow both fond a predatory. "I want to do a thing," he said quietly.

"Sure, what?"

Jeff answering smile was wicked. "I want to give the internet people something to really look at. And just in case anybody's confused I want to remind them that I'm not hiding or ashamed--of myself or of you."

"So what are you thinking?"

Jeff touched the side of Jensen's face, smearing the sweat there. "Trust me?"

Jensen blinked for a few seconds and then nodded. "I do."

"Then just go with it. Come on, let's go."

Back up on stage, Jeff led them into one of Golden Dog's biggest hits, a song with a slow, grinding sensuality that had driven Jensen crazy when he was a teenager losing himself in magazine pictures of JD Morgan. He kept catching Jeff looking at him, and he kept looking back, distantly wondering if this was the eye-fucking his sister had been talking about. When the bass and drum solo part of the song came Jeff strode across the stage, dark eyes and long legs and pure animal sexuality, and he grabbed the front of Jensen's shirt in his fist.

He pulled Jensen in for a kiss, and Jensen didn't care about the crowd or the lights or the guys on stage with them or the internet or his family or anything other than Jeff's tongue in his mouth, Jeff's hips pushing up against his, Jeff's smell in his nose, the sweat-sticky cotton of Jeff's shirt under his hands. Jensen was breathless by the time Jeff pulled back, and he stumbled back into his part of the song as the hoots and hollers of the crowd flooded into his awareness.

Jensen looked over at Jeff as he played, and Jeff was singing, growling his way through the rest of the song, but there was a tentative kind of question in his eyes. Jensen answered with a nod then closed his eyes, flying high on the song and the crowd and over everything else Jeff. He knew he was a few hours away from a delighted and outraged call from his sister, and he really didn't care.


	5. You Might See This Wanted Man

Timestamp to [You Might See This Wanted Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/110805)

John tried to put it out of his head, the thing that happened with that boy who wasn't Dean. He knew he wasn't a good man, knew he'd made a shit-ton of mistakes in his life, and he could list them for you if you wanted sit and have a drink or twelve. But the idea that he was the monster lurking in the darkness, the boogeyman hiding in the back of that boy's mind, the nightmare that could come at night to claim him--that wasn't acceptable. And yet John knew there was nothing he could do to change it.

The next morning, running on coffee and grease and no sleep, John went back to that street in the suburbs and watched until the family came out again, dressed in their Sunday best and looking like they'd never had a speck of dirt on them in their lives. Like nothing had ever touched them or ever could. John scoped out the boy with his binoculars, and he could see tension around the edges of his face. He could see the boy looking around himself even though he was so goddamn bad at it that John could've crept up on him and taken him down even in the light of day, if he had a mind to. But the boy turned on the smile for his family, and John had to give it to him--if nothing else, he could act.


	6. Call & Answer

Timestamp to [Call & Answer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/868202)

By the time they got home, Jensen seemed more relaxed than he’d been but Jeff could see exhaustion and the stubborn remnants of fear in Jensen’s eyes and the set of his shoulders as he slumped against the wall in the bedroom with his shirt off and his pants still on.

“I feel like it should be the middle of the night,” Jensen said, shaking his head.

“Then let’s just take a shower and go to bed.”

“But it’s too early.”

“Says who? Come on, we can watch TV if we’re not ready to go to sleep, but stretching out sounds good to me.”

Jensen just looked at Jeff for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, man, me too.”

Jeff grabbed Jensen by a belt loop and led him into the bathroom, where they both stripped and stepped into the oversize shower stall. Jeff put his arms around Jensen and pulled him close, and they breathed against each other as hot water pounded against both of their backs from the multiple shower heads. After a few minutes, Jensen pulled away just far enough to take Jeff’s mouth in a whiskey-tinged kiss.

They soaped each other up, a delight that often led to more but this wasn’t the time. They got out of the shower and, dried off but still damp, climbed into bed together. Jeff leaned back against a stack of pillows and guided Jensen to stretch out between his legs, his back against Jeff’s chest and his head a welcome weight on Jeff’s shoulder. It might have just been the departing warmth of the shower, but Jeff felt Jensen shiver when he turned off the light. He turned the TV on, and Jensen sighed quietly when its glow lit up the room.

“I’m okay,” Jensen said.

“I know, but I’m behind on watching Lost. The DVR’s getting full.”

“Uh-huh.”

Truth be told, Jeff had been watching the show, but he wasn’t sure what episode he’d watched last. He picked one at random, and he didn’t have any idea what was happening but he wasn’t sure if that actually meant he’d missed anything. In any case, all he was really interested in was Jensen—the warm bulk of him in Jeff’s arms, the even movement of his breathing as he drifted off to sleep, the smell of his hair as it dried and tickled against the side of Jeff’s face.

He didn’t care about missing Lost, but he never wanted to miss this.


End file.
